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“Not really.” I shrug, but it’s a lie. We are so loved up that it’s not even funny and have not spent a night apart from each other in two weeks.
We kiss and cuddle and laugh, make love and fuck like animals. We pretend to watch Game of Thrones and eat snacks while naked at midnight.
This is it. I’ve found him.
Everything I’ve ever wanted in a man is right here in front of me, and I’ve never been so fulfilled. There’s not one thing I would change about him.
Yes, he’s got baggage, a lot of it. Every now and then he will have an inner freakout and tell me that we’re just friends.
But we both know that’s a lie.
This is something.
Something bigger than either of us can control.
The funny thing is we never make plans, but somehow, someway, without fail, we see each other every day. Even if it’s just for an hour before I go to night shift.
I ended up telling Joel that I wasn’t doing anything with the house for a while. It wasn’t worth the drama with Henley, and I want us to get to safer ground before I cross that bridge.
“There he is,” Taryn’s annoying voice calls from inside. “Henley James, I can see you,” she calls in her singsong voice as she comes floating out the back door.
“Fuck’s sake,” Rebecca whispers under her breath. “Does she have no shame?”
Taryn runs over and plops herself down onto Henley’s lap. “I’ll sit with you, darling.”
Henley’s eyes flick up to me, and I raise my eyebrow.
No.
Don’t you fucking dare let her sit there.
Henley bundles her up. “You’re not sitting on me, Taryn.” He jokingly pushes her off and pulls up a chair beside him and taps it. “Sit here.”
“Oh . . . you’re no fun.” She pretends to pout. “I thought you would like my body weight on yours.”
Blake, who is sitting beside them, laughs in surprise.
My blood boils.
“Seriously?” Rebecca whispers.
“Ugh.” I try to change the subject. “So John’s at work?” I ask.
Rebecca lets out a deep sigh. “Apparently.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“I don’t know.” She sips her wine. “We went away last weekend and had sex once, and even then I initiated it.”
“Maybe . . .” I try to think of an excuse for his behavior. “Maybe his hormones are just out, and he isn’t equipped to want it all the time. It happens to men, you know. Especially if they are under stress.”
“Maybe,” she agrees. “Whenever I ask him what’s wrong, he tells me that exact excuse, that he’s under a lot of stress and just isn’t in the mood and that it has nothing to do with me because he loves me more than anything.”
I watch her for a moment. “Do you believe him?”
“Whose footprints were in the back seat of his car, Jules? No matter how many excuses I can make for him, I can’t deny what I saw.”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. I don’t blame her for being worried. I would be overthinking this, too, if I were in her shoes.
